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Copyright, 1905 

BY 

MARY DANFORTH DODGE 



A DEDICATION 

This handful, dear, of pebbles thou didst see 
One idle day, and crave them for thine 
own. 
If silken strung each seemeth now to be, 
Aping the state of some more precious 
stone, 
Remember His through praise bestowed by 
thee 
They have so proud and so ambitious 
grow m. 



CONTENTS 

UPON THE AVENTINE 

PAGE 

Sant' Alessio : A Legend of the Fifth Cen- 
tury 3 

Gualdo-An Anachronism n 

BY UND AND SKA 

Kalista 39 

A Legend of St. Sophia in 1453 .... 42 
An Athenian Reminiscence . . . . .46 

Heimweh 49 

At Sea 51 

On Deck and Below 53 

Carpe Diem 54 

The lyONG-DiSTANCE Telephone ... 55 

The Moonlight Path .56 

IN DEEPER. VEIN 

Rachel Comforted 59 

Our Daily Bread 62 

The Dreamer 64 



vi Contents 

PAGE 

The All-Sufficient Presence . . . .66 

Help, Lord ! I Perish 68 

Septuagesima 69 

Through Death . 71 

Satisfied 73 

To a Night-Blooming Cereus 75 

Living and Dead 76 

" From Sudden Death " 77 

To Him That Overcometh 78 

FRIENDS 

J. S D . . 83 

Deferred . . . ' 84 

Chance Tidings ........ 85 

Requiem 86 

Quis Dicat ? . . . 88 

Ships at Sea 90 

EARLY VERSES 

Spring Song 93 

Fortune-Telling 95 

September Memories 97 

Autumn Parting 100 

A Wish 101 

Ballad 102 



Contents vii 

RKDIVIVUS 

PAGE 

Redivivus 107 

TRANSLATIONS 

i,ove and ltght 115 

Amore . 118 

A Sigh 119 

The Innkeeper's Daughter 120 

Forest Devotion 122 

Song 124 

Song 125 

O World, How Beautiful Thou Art ! . . . 126 

UNFINISHED 

The Pleasures of Sickness 129 




UPON THE AVENTINE 



SANT' ALKSSIO 

A LEGEND OE THE FIFTH CENTURY 

A STATELY home upon Mount Aventine 
Whose gardens, sloping to the Tiber's 
brim, 
Were rich with blossoms and with mem- 
ories sweet 
Of earliest childhood ; parents' fondest care ; 
Wealth, homage from a hundred cringing 

slaves ; 
Promise of favor and imperial grace, 
And a fair bride to live but for his love — 
These to Alessio's lip the cup of life 
Held for his quaffing. But his inmost soul 
Burned with a thirst which would not be 

allayed, 
A fire enkindled from the blessed Cross, 
Till earth and all its joys seemed blackened 

dust, 
Their touch pollution, their denial Heaven. 

3 



Sant' aieesfo 

One parting word to the scarce wedded wife 
Weakly accepted at his father's hand, 
Then thrust aside as that which most might 

serve 
To bind his soul to earth ; no other clue ; 
And while the nuptial song still stirred the 

air 
Alone into the darkness went he forth, 
Seeking through prayer and sacrifice and 

pain 
And loss of all things, aye, of life itself, 
To find his way unto the feet of Christ. 

O'er land and sea he journeyed, nights and 
days 

Filled with unceasing prayer and holy 
thoughts 

And service to the lowest of Christ's poor, 

Until he gained such fame for sanctity 

That all the people cried, " A saint of 
God!" 

And his heart shrank with fear lest sinful 
pride 

Grow up between it and the love of Heaven. 

In each new scene he hoped to dwell un- 
known, 



San? Sleesfo \ 

But ever shone the light of holiness 

So clear and pure through the translucent 

flesh 
Which scarce could veil his spirit, that again 
The dreaded fame and reverence followed 

him. 
Beside his path strange orient flowers 

bloomed ; 
Above him ripened luscious tropic fruits ; 
Carol of bird and beam of silvery moon, 
All beauty, sense, and sweetness beckoned 

him ; 
But all, to him whose home was not of 

earth, 
Were shadows vainer than the vainest 

dream. 
And when a heavenly peace possessed his 

heart, 
And Heaven seemed near and prayer was 

ecstasy, 
A sudden thought shot terror to his soul : 
My Lord ! A man of sorrows hast Thou 

been, 
With grief acquainted and with anguish 

torn, 
And I, unworthy, taste of happiness 



Sant' Blesefo 

Here, upon this Thy footstool ! Lord, forbid ! 

Sudden he turned and steadfast set his face 

To preach the Word in distant heathen 
lands. 

There might he find the service that he 
craved, 

There purge his soul " perfect through suf- 
fering, " 

Perchance — O Christ! — through fires of 
martyrdom 

Follow his Master e'en to Calvary. 

Long, perilous weeks of adverse wind and 

wave, 
Of strife with fiercest rage of wintry seas, 
Tossed him, shipwrecked and broken as with 

age, 
At last upon his own Italian shore, 
And bearded, cowled, unrecognized, he 

stood, 
Pilgrim and beggar at his father's gate. 
Here found he 'mid the wretched menial 

crew, 
Half reverent, half contemptuous, scanty 

dole 
Of coarse subsistence and a kennel bed. 



Sant' Sleseio 

One word might buy for him all earthly 

bliss ; 
That word, he feared, would mar his hope 

of Heaven. 
"Here, then, my soul, thou find'st thy 

Calvary, 
Here, heart, thy martyrdom. God's will be 

done." 

His father's step, his mother's tender voice 
Heard but in passing, yet so fondly dear, 
Sent pang on pang to the still loving heart. 
But ah! one summer night, when even 

Rome 
Lay in a listening stillness, deep within 
The shadowy palace courts he heard a voice 
Which drove the last nail of his self-reared 

cross, 
A voice which to a lute thus softly sang : 

" Alas ! thou comest not. The budding 
spring 
Three times hath warmed into the sum- 
mer's blooming ; 
Three times hath autumn's fruitage ripening 
Proved but a prophecy of winter's gloom- 
ing. 



t Sant' Blessto 

" Ah, my Alessio, lost when newly found, 
In thy great heart, beside the love of 
Heaven 
Was there not space that I might compass 
round 
That mighty love with mine, so gladly 
given ? 

" Return nor thought nor care I asked of 
thee, 
Only the boon to share in pain, prayer, 
fasting, 
Alms, vigil, till my soul, from self set free, 
Share, though afar, thy rapture ever- 
lasting. 

" ' Nay,' saidst thou, ' earthly love is less 
than dross. 
Who leaves not all for Christ unworthy 
proveth . 
He who for Him doth gladly suffer loss 
Of all the heart holds dear, he only 
loveth.' 

" Nay, hope no more, my heart ; he cometh 
not. 



Sant' Blessfo 9 

Perchance the martyr's crown e'en now he 
weareth. 
Mother of mercies! Heed my bitter lot. 
lighten the cross thy sorrowing servant 
beareth." 

Years passed. Long days of self- forgetting 

toils 
Among the meanest poor, long nights of 

prayer 
And self- remembering anguish sternly 

curbed, 
Wove a new halo for Alessio's head, 
And awe and reverence hailed him saint of 

God 
Among the populace. But, as of old 
Dives recked naught of Lazarus at his gate, 
So to the stately Roman Senator 
One pilgrim or one beggar, less or more, 
Counted but little as he went his way. 

Yet came a day when at the imperial court 
The word went round : " A wondrous saint 

of God 
Lieth a-dying at Kuphemian's gate, 
And great Pope Innocent hath heard a voice 
From Heaven witnessing his sanctity." 



io Sant* Bleasfo 

And when the father and the attendant 

throng 
Had hastened back to see the holy sight, 
And gain a dying blessing, life had fled 
And on his face there shone once more a 

smile. 

Then, as with reverent hands they raised his 

form 
And straightened out the tatters of his robe, 
Out from its folds there fell a roll inscribed : 
" To the most noble lord, Kuphemian." 

Few were its lines and simple, but they told 
To the proud father's heart the whole long 

tale ; 
And to an age which knew no better way 
They seemed his passport to the bliss of 

Heaven. 



GUAIyDO— AN ANACHRONISM. 



" T T ^R breath is the breath of the rose, 
H And the rose's own her hue, 

And her hair is the gold of the summer sun, 
And her eyes are heaven's own blue ; 



" And her heart is an angel's heart, 
And her soul is as deep as the sea. 

She is queen of the roses and rose of the 
world. 
Oh, the island rose for me ! 



" I will wear it upon my heart. 
It shall bloom for me alone — " 

The improvisatore's trolling song 

Met sudden check, for as the boisterous 

group 
Cried " Bravo, Capitano ! " and again 
" Viva la bell' Inglese ! " Gualdo's wrath 
ii 



12 <3ualDo— Bn anachronism 

Blazed forth upon the singer in such words 
As only blood could, by their code, avenge. 

Should she, the fair and noble Lady Rose, 
Whom he in purest, reverent love had 

throned 
Within his hearts most sacred hidden 

shrine, 
Be made the mess-room's toast, the common 

song? 

Wrath clashed with wrath, a blow, a 

challenge next, 
And at to-morrow's earliest dawn of day 
His sword should prove his right to shield 

her name 
From the rude touch even of common praise. 

Meantime once more, the last perhaps on 
earth, 
He must behold her, yet no single word 
Of his consuming love should reach her ear 
To cloud her sunshine by one care for him 
Whose love and life were forfeit for her sake, 
And when he stood within her palace home, 
How more than radiant seemed her loveli- 
ness, 



©ualDo— Bn Bnacbronism 13 

How hard the fate that ere another night 
Might close his eyes forever to its joy 
And snatch the bliss he might perhaps have 
won. 

But now with mien of friendly courtesy 
Her stately gracious elder image speaks : 
" Dear Signor Conte, you have been so kind, 
You must be sharer of our household joy. 
We keep to-night our child's betrothal 

feast ; 
Her lifelong neighbor, playmate, lover, we 
Take to our hearts to be henceforth our 

son — 
Friendship of generations, crowned by love." 

living or dead, then, matters not to her ; 
Hope, love, despair baseless alike and vain. 

Who knew, O death, that thou couldst be so 
sweet 

E'en in anticipation 
That one thy healing blow could rush to 
meet 

In glad elation ? 

Who knew, O love, thou couldst so cruel be, 
Of such dire grief the bearer 



14 ©ual&o— Bn B-nacbconism 

That for each sweet, false dream one 
dreamed of thee 

Death seems the fairer ? 

But 'twas not death he met ; not his the 

boon 
To bury grief in long forgetfulness. 
His rival's blade struck deeper. Months of 

pain 
Ivay yet before him, slow, sad years whose 

length 
His youth and strength made so much more 

a curse. 

And one of rumor's hundred lying tongues 
Carried the tale thus to his English friends: 

" A mess-room quarrel — this hot Roman 
blood — 
Some woman in the question, so they say — " 
A shrug — "good morning." 

"Ah, you see, my dear, 
This young Italian paragon of yours 
Was not so different then from all the rest." 

" Aye, so it seems. I grieve it should be 
true. 



(Bual&o— Sn anachronism 15 

I have had fears lest he might think of Rose. 
Let us thank Heaven for our daughter's fate, 
An honest English husband and a home 
In her own land among her friends and 
kin." 

Polite inquiries, parting messages, 
The homeward journey, home and marriage 

bells, 
And their own life to live— that episode 
Faded into the dimness of the past. 

But Gualdo ? Convalescence long and slow 
Sickened his heart with slow, sad, vacant 

hours ; 
His life, all purposeless and joyless grown, 
So late with hope and promise brimming 

o'er, 
Was hateful now ; hope dead, ambition 

quenched, 
To lover and to soldier love and fame 
Now possible no more, what had he left ? 
E 'en memory held no balm, despair no 

strength. 

He shunned the crowd, hated the friendly 
look 



16 ©ualDo— Bn Bnacbrontem 

Whose ill-hid pity for the halting step 
And fever-wasted frame seemed insult dire ; 
And most he haunted unfrequented spots 
Where he might muse alone and nurse his 

woe. 
Iyone ruins held for him mysterious charm, 
A sympathetic sadness which at times 
Held hints of healing. Broken, crumbling 

walls, 
Precarious arches, flower grown, grass be- 
decked, 
The hoary Colosseum, Palatine's 
Downfallen grandeur, Nero's ruined halls, 
Or Caracalla's mighty monument, 
These were his haunts, who once in bright- 
est scenes 
Himself was half the brightness, half the 
charm. 

One morn, his heavy steps slow wandering 
On Aventine's half desert slope, impelled 
By what desire he knew not, turned within 
Santa Sabina's unfrequented church. 
Through lofty, loud resounding vestibule 
And carven, ancient doors of quaint design 
He sought the nave's vast, echoing solitude, 



<3uatf>o— Bn Bnacbrontsm 17 

Where twice twelve high Corinthian columns 

rose 
Of richest marble, pious spoil perhaps 
Of Juno's earlier fane ; then turned aside 
Where o 'er a dim side chapel's altar hung 
A picture, sought by devotee of art 
And pious worshipper and dear alike 
To both, Madonna del Rosario called, 
Sassoferrato's masterpiece, who here 
More than in all his lesser works had 

caught 
The spirit of the earlier master's art. 

With heavenly sweetness, from His 
mother's lap 
The Holy Child leans forward graciously, 
With tiny, dimpled hands a rosary 
To Santa Cattarina proffering 
Who lowly kneels in meek, adoring love. 

As from the central figure Gualdo's glance 
Rose carelessly, a sudden lightning flash 
Of wakened interest gleamed in his eye. 
A something, an expression in the look 
The holy mother bends upon her child 
Recalled, though all unlike, that countenance 



tf (Suai&o— an anachronism 

Which made ere while the sunlight of his 

life. 
Another look, he saw it not ; again 
'Twas there, more marked. Ah, life might 

hold once more 
The ghost at least of joy, shadow of hope, 
Seeking from day to day this miracle. 

From day to day in truth this pilgrimage 
Gave Gualdo occupation, aim, and hope. 
Kneeling before the picture he would wait 
The fleeting likeness now and then vouch- 
safed 
To his rapt sight, which seemed a miracle, 
Though born in truth of his own changing 

mood, 
No less than those which many a tale of 

old 
Had fixed upon his childhood's memory. 
And as he gazed one morning waiting thus, 
Upon the Holy Infant's face there grew 
That selfsame look, and to his wondering 

eyes 
The blessed baby hands seemed offering 
The rosary to him, to him whose lips 
Had long ago forgotten how to pray ! 



<3ualDo— Bn Bnacbronism 19 

Abashed, he left the spot, yet when again 
The haunting vision drew him thitherward 
Upon the morrow, still the selfsame look, 
The selfsame gracious proffer startled him. 
Again and yet again the same, till now, 
— The mother's face unnoticed — all the force 
Of sweetness irresistible and mute 
Appeal insistent centred in the Child 
And made Him seem the love-compelling 

source 
Of love and centre of all life and thought. 
Awe and amazement grew in Gualdo's soul. 
11 For me, so all unmeet, a miracle ? 
To me the dear Lord tenders such a gift 
Who for long years have quite forgotten 

Him?" 

In trouble which would not be set aside, 
In vain self-questioning that knew no rest, 
He sought his boyhood's teacher, mentor, 

friend, 
So long neglected, Padre Giacomo, 
And poured into a sympathizing heart 
His tale of love, grief, wonder, mystery. 

A holy man was Padre Giacomo, 
Superior of the pious brotherhood 



20 Oualfco— Bn anachronism 

Dwelling contiguous to Sabina's church 
And founded by the great Saint Dominic. 
He walked in faith and pious offices, 
As much convinced it was the will of Heaven 
That bands of godly men should dwell apart 
From earthly cares and common toils of life 
As was the founder, Dominic himself. 

" A miracle, my son ? Why not, in truth ? 
Think not the day of miracles is past. 
Through all the ages many a sinful soul 
— Many beside the darkness of whose lives 
Thine gleameth like the scarcely sullied 

snow — 
Hath God by miracle brought to Himself, 
His eye omniscient seeing through the veil 
Of folly, sin, or vain indifference 
A spark which needed but the breath divine 
To kindle into bright, consuming flame 
Of utmost consecration. Nay, I see 
In all thy life a heavenly providence, 
Shaping through earthly love a love divine, 
Through selfish grief a holy grief for sin, 
Through passion's strife the rest of heaventy 

peace ; 
K'en through a worship all idolatrous 



©ualDo— Bn B-nacbronfem 2 

Drawing thee to thy infant Saviour's feet. 
Accept the miracle, my son, receive 
The token that thy life henceforth shall be 
A life of prayer, all consecrate to Him." 

True was the padre's word, for Gualdo's 

heart, 
By passion's plough and pain's sharp harrow 

stirred, 
Softened by rain of unavailing tears 
And warmed by sunshine of a stainless love 
E'en but remembered, proved a soil indeed 
Fitted for blossoming of love divine. 
Few better than the padre could portray 
That wondrous Love Incarnate which had 

borne 
For us all bitterness of life and death ; 
Few with more simple faith than Gualdo 

hear, 
Or with more fervent self-surrender cry, 
"Henceforth, dear Lord, now and forever 

Thine ! " 

Unknowing of that blessed liberty 
Which is his heritage whom Christ sets free, 
For Gualdo's feet opened one only path, 



22 <3ualDo— Bit Snacbroniem 

That in which generations frocked and 

cowled 
Had blindly sought by vain self-sacrifice 
To earn His favor who already loved, 
Who age on age held out to them a hand 
Their foolish blindness would not let them 

see. 
Name, title, fortune gladly laid aside, 
Before the altar Fra Gregorio 
Took up the holy service which he craved, 
And clasped for life the proffered rosary. 

A score of years had passed. No need to 

tell 
The doubts, fears, agonies, which made at 

first 
Of the bare soul of Fra Gregorio 
Their battle-field. Yet since no seed of faith 
Sown in God's soil, howe'er unskilfully, 
Shall fail of fruitage in that garden fair 
Which holds both worlds, so now the peace 

of Heaven 
Had stilled the tumult, and the convent's 

life 
Of prayer and sacred song and pious works 
Filled up the measure of a sweet content 



<3ualDo— !Hn Bnacbrontem 23 

Which had no taint of the dull apathy, 
The slavish superstition, or the base 
And foul hypocrisy which hid beneath 
So many a monkish garb. A faith serene 
Filled and possessed his heart, nor could he 

guess 
The strange untimeliness of his own life 
Midway in this tempestuous century 
Of action, strife, unrest. A love refined 
And purified by fire had grown to be 
Life of his life, a golden cord which bound 
That life to Christ, the Master whom he 

served 
So singly, and approached so closely, that 
Had Padre Giacomo still read his heart 
As in those early years, he might in sooth 
Have feared lest saints and Holy Mother 

lose 
Worship and reverence due ; but that good 

man 
Had passed from mortal sight, and later rule 
Took little heed of doctrine. 

Lonely cell, 
Fair convent gardens where the roses 
bloomed 



24 (BualDc— Bn Bnacbvontsm 

And violets breathed perpetual fragrant 

prayer, 
The cloistered walks whose narrow arches, 

raised 
On slender marble columns, oft recalled 
The stately growth of sunny Lombard plains ; 
Whose orange grove enclosed brought back 

sweet da}'s 
Of happy youth in light-bathed Sicily ; 
The doorway at the cloister's farther end 
Through whose strait space the whole fair 

outer world 
Lay stretched before his gaze, Rome at his 

feet, 
And across Tiber's yellow, sluggish flow 
The dome of great St. Peter's looming 

high— 
These were his world, and in its narrow 

round 
Lay all his dream of life, his hope of Heaven. 

But now this quiet world is strangely 
stirred, 
For thickest conyent walls exclude not sound 
Of booming gun and martial trumpet blast> 
Nor rumor stirring up a vague unrest. 



(BualDo— Bn Bnacbroniem 25 

At last comes news, how strange, how 

terrible, 
The Holy Pontiff flouted, set at nought, 
Besieged within his own Sant' Angelo 
By him styled King, forsooth, of Italy ; 
Till, moved by pity for the blood outpoured, 
The Holy Father bids resistance cease, 
Along his covered gallery slow retreats 
And in his own imperial Vatican 
Becomes a prisoner, and this Savoyard, 
This bold Sardinian usurper, sits 
Within the Quirinale's palace walls 
And Rome, all renegade, shouts Viv* il Re! 

So came the tale with fear and wonder 

fraught. 
Next, news more dread, more near: "The 

King requires 
For pressing needs his faithful servants' 

house " ; 
And ere the slower minds have understood 
The warning rumble of the earthquake 

shock, 
The convent has become a hospital ; 
And where for centuries in frock and cowl 
Its monkish occupants have offered up 



26 (SualDo— Bn Bnacbtontsm 

Incense and prayer and hymn and canticle, 
Soldiers, in stained and ragged uniform, 
With pain and fever racked, fill cell and hall 
With groans and curses, jest and ribald 
song. 

Of all the brotherhood but three remained, 
Why chosen, who can tell ? And of the 

three 
One was Gregorio. Beloved of all 
In bygone years, so now again did all 
Revere and love him, humble though his 

task, 
To keep the convent door and now and then 
Serve by the sick in lowly ministries. 
A tender hand in service and a heart 
Brimming with sympathy for grief and pain, 
A cheerful spirit, simple courtesy 
Sweet and unfailing, and a calm, clear 

mind, — 
These were the gifts men named in naming 

him. 

Again the years rolled by, not quiet now, 
Yet filled with willing service, wrought in 
love. 



<3ualDo— Bn Bnacbroniem 27 

'Twas a wild night. The winds raved 

ceaselessly 
Across Campagna's waste, and rain-waves 

beat 
Incessant 'gainst the casement of a cell 
Where lay, by fitful slumbers lightly held, 
A fever patient, grizzled, wasted, old 
With more than years, while Fra Gregorio, 
Alone in charge, alternate prayed and 

watched. 
A restless tossing, then a muttered oath 
Broke through the silence, and a voice 

attuned 
To the hoarse din of war more than to note 
Of any music, rang upon the air 
In broken snatches of rough battle song 
Or roystering chorus as with mess-room 

mates, 
Till, softening erelong to sweeter strain, 
It seemed some echo of forgotten sounds. 



Carina mia, sleep thou in peace. 

Clatter of war horse and rattle of arms 
Pass 'neath thy window, grow distant and 
cease, 



28 ©ualDo— Bn anachronism 

Nor trouble thy dreaming with vaguest 
alarms. 

Morning shall rouse thee with carol of birds 
And faint ringing chimes from the far 
purple hill, 
With song of the vintage and lowing of 
herds. 
Till then, happy dreams all thy slumber 
time fill. 

May grief ne'er approach thee, nor discord 
affright ; 
May evil pass by thee unheeded as now. 
Afar from thy life be the stress of the fight 
And the angel of peace drop a kiss on thy 
brow. 



At last the song had wholly died away 
And as a ray from the one flickering lamp, 
Held for a moment in the watcher's hand, 
Fell full across the face, his sight confirmed 
The witness of his hearing, and he knew 
That helpless there before him was the foe 
Who robbed him once of earth to gain him 
Heaven. 



©ualfco— Sn Bnacbrontsm 29 

Then, while a thousand feelings surged and 

strove, 
The heavy eyes with slowly opening lids 
Followed the light which showed that 

gazing face, 
Free for the moment from its lifelong mask 
Of self-forgetful calm, in strong relief 
Marking its delicate lines, and the weak 

voice 
Cried, " Gualdo ! Spare me!" 

" Spare thee ? nay, my friend, 
As brothers do we meet. In all my heart 
Is there but love and pity for thee. Sleep." 
And the eyes closed and the lips framed " A 

dream ! " 
And while his watcher prayed once more he 

slept. 
I^ater, when morning's earliest twittering 

notes 
Rang intermittent from the orange boughs, 
The faint voice asked, "Gualdo, is't truly 

thou? 
And thou forgiv'st ? I knew not 'twas in 

man 
To pardon thus the murder of a life. 
And yet methinks I see within thine eye 



30 ©ualfco— 2ln Bnacbroniem 

A fire that even murder could not quench 

Burning within thee. It were strange in- 
deed 

If this tame cloister life have brought to 
thee 

The joy that all my freedom never found. 

" My life, ah basta ! 'twas not quite a 

monk's ! 
Che vuole ? But it brought me little joy 
Save joy of battle and the pride to know 
And vaunt my share in the accomplished 

deed 
Of Italy united, powerful, free. 
And now 't is almost ended. This old wound 
I brought from Aspromonte saps my strength; 
This cursed fever caught in Pontine swamps 
Clutches my life and will not loose its hold. 
'Tis well. A soldier shrinks not from his 

foe, 
Even the last and worst. Is it not strange 
That in this latest fight, thou, Gualdo, thou 
Shouldst be my friend and ally, who hast 

cause 
To hate me rather ? Foolish, were we not ? 
For the sweet English rose hung far too high 



©ualDo— Bn anachronism 31 

For either. Stay, I once — 't was years ago, 
A score, methinks— I saw her once again. 
Time had but ripened all the budding charm 
That witched our youthful hearts, and at her 

side 
Sat a fair replica of her young self, 
Sat, all unconscious that the Pincio's crowd 
Had eyes but for her beauty. Dost recall 
The wonder of those eyes, that hair of gold ?" 

"Nay," cried the monk, " for thee earth 

fadeth fast ; 
For me 't is long since dead. No woman's 

name 
May cross thy lips or mine, save only hers 
Who pleads for us above. Sanctissima, 
Ora pro nobis / Jesu, send Thy grace 
And fix our hearts on Thee, alone on Thee." 



Thou, who on Heaven's exalted Throne 
Wouldst be not Son of God alone, 
Of glory King from all eternity ; 
But who for sinful man to earth 
Didst come through lowly human birth 



32 (Sualfco— Bn Bnacbronism 

To dwell with us and very Man to be, 
Incarnate Love, deliver lis ! 
Thou who upon the bitter Cross 
Did suffer every woe and loss 

E'er known to mortal heart since time be- 
gan ; 

O Christ, enthroned once more on high, 
Still in our sorrows be Thou nigh, 
Saviour, Thou Son of God, yet very Man, 
Eternal Love, deliver us ! 



Spring w T as abloom along Campagna's wastes 
And breathed in cloying sweetness from the 

boughs 
Of the old convent trees whose golden balls 
Hung still amid their blossoms. 

Tinkling peals 
Of the old portal bell gave notice oft 
Of stranger guests, the most from foreign 

shores, 
Who, turning from this modern, strange new 

Rome, 
Would seek the past within Sabina's walls. 
And one sweet morning came a fair young 



©ualDo— Bn Snacbronfsm 33 

By older friends attended, one who seemed 
Herself a bright embodiment of spring, 
With the same eyes and gleam of golden 

hair 
And curve of lip that once in long past years 
Had burned their imprint deep in Gualdo's 

heart. 

With halting speech which rang in sweeter 
tones 
Than purest Tuscan from another tongue 
She would know all the legends of the place, 
Would see the Virgin of the Rosary 
And the famed orange tree Saint Dominic 
With his own hands had planted. And with 

grace 
Of sweetest reverence for the kindly guide 
Who plucked for her an orange from the 

tree 
And fragrant violets from the garden bed, 
Loosed from her belt a rose, and smiling 

said, 
" You have no roses 'mid these gray old 

walls ; 
May I not give you this? It came, moss- 
packed, 



34 (SualDo— an anachronism 

This morning from my own dear English 

home. 
My mother's mother plucked it ; she is 

Rose 
And I am Rose. 

Nay cousin, " to the soft 
Reproof that fain would check her artless 

speech, 
" Nay, cousin, I am sure this kind old man 
Will pardon if my words too forward seem. " 

And Fra Gregorio received the rose 
With thanks and murmured blessing and a 

smile 
That sealed the blessing. And the vision 
fled. 

When next the morning light came steal- 
ing in 

Through the high windows of Sabina's 
shrine, 

They touched a motionless and kneeling 
form 

Before the altar del Rosario, 

And from the prayer-clasped hands a faded 
rose 



©ual&o— Hn Bnacbrontsm 



35 



Dropped one by one its petals, and the lips 
Returned the morning's smile with answer- 
ing smile 
Of hard won triumph and of perfect peace. 




BY LAND AND SEA 



37 



KAUSTA 

IS she not fairest ? Come, see her stand 
On lofty Akropolis, pure and sweet 
From the shapely urn-upbearing hand 
To the soles of her sandalled feet. 

In marble, aye, but she lived in truth 

More than a score of ages ago, 
And the radiant charms of her deathless 
youth 

Through the sculptor's genius glow. 

I fancy her roaming the Attic plain 
By the swift Ilissos she loved so well, 

Fairest and first of a virgin train 
With their chaplets of asphodel. 

Or seated demure mid the half hushed din 
Of girlish voices and shuttle and loom, 

Her slender fingers enmeshed within 
The mystical pallium, 

39 



4o Iftaltsta 

Meekly happy to do her part 
In service to high Athena paid, 

Athena, queen of her fresh young heart, 
Great maiden-honored Maid. 

What knew she better? The world's one 
Wgbt, 
Not yet arisen, threw a twilight dim 
Into such pure hearts, bearing through the 
night 
Unconscious witness to Him. 

I see her again with the sculptor's eyes 
When the long procession onward rolled — 

While the air was soft and blue the skies 
And the light was flecked with gold — 

Soldier and gift bearer, minstrel and sage, 
Bellowing victim and rearing steed 

And rumbling chariot, slow paced age 
And youth with its ill curbed speed, 

Winding up the citadel's side 

Past spear-sharp aloes, o'er soft young 
grass, 
To the Propylaea's marble pride 

And the glittering gates of brass ; 



IKalieta 41 

Praying for blessings on people and town, 
Chanting praises for blessings rife : 

" Pallas Athene ! Spare thy frown ; 
Thy smile to us is life." 

O pride of Hellas, my peerless maid ! 

How the master's wonderful, godlike 
power 
Brings to my vision, so long delayed, 

The glory of that hour. 

It gives to my heart the joy to know 

How fair and fragrant a flower once 
bloomed 

In that old dead world of long ago 

Whose glories and gods are entombed ; 

And I love to dream, as my fancies stray, 
How she lived here once a life as sweet 

As the farewell token I bring her to-day, 
The jonquils I drop at her feet. 



A LEGEND OF ST. SOPHIA IN 1453. 
1 

FAR stretching as the eye can roam 
The shadowy, vaulted aisles extend, 
And the lofty, angel-guarded dome 
Seems with the sky to blend. 

O'er surging billows of holy song 
Prayer laden mists of incense rise, 

While blue robed priests swell deep and long 
Anthems of sacrifice. 

What heeds the terror stricken crowd ? 

The tumult swells to sullen roar 
Of mad despair and wailing loud — 

" The Turk is at the door ! " 

From homes polluted and blood-defiled, 
From fire and rapine and death they flee, 

Prince and beggar, saint, sinner, and child, 
A woful company. 

42 



B Xe^enD ot St. Sopbta in 1453 43 

Shall God's elect not triumph, though late? 

Shall not their prayers prevail at last ? 
" Allah il Allah ! " The sacred gate 

By Islam's host is passed. 

Through prayers and curses, through groans 
untold, 

They hew their way with Moslem cries, 
Till the great high altar's gems and gold 

Dazzle their greedy eyes. 

But ere a foot of those Moslem bands 
Had pressed the steps of the holy choir, 

A massy wall, by unseen hands 
Built high and ever higher, 

Hid noiselessly from earthly sight 
Priests and altar and saints of stone, 

And the foe fell back in rage and fright. 
The Lord had saved His own. 

II 

Ages have passed, but the sacred shrine 
Still echoes never to Christian tread. 

God's chosen people have tears for wine, 
Stones and ashes for bread ; 



44 B XegenD of St. Sopbia in 1453 

For the blessed Cross, the Crescent's rule, 

Muezzin-cry for holy song ; 
And proud Byzantium is Istamboul — 

O Christ ! How long, how long ? 

Cometh it never, that promised day 
When the L,ord shall bare His arm to save, 

And free from Islam's accursed sway 
Church, city, and Christian slave ? 

When the Heaven- built wall shall vanish in 
air 
At the sound of a Christian conqueror's 
tread, 
And the priests who slept in its sheltering 
care 
Waken, as from the dead ; 

And smoldering incense and long-quenched 
song 

Flame up together instantly, 
And arches echo and aisles prolong 

Anthems of victory ? 

Cometh it soon ? For the northern blast 
Bears on its wings a sound of war. 



B XegenD of St* Sopbia in 1453 45 

Our masters tremble. Hear they at last 
Their death-doom from afar ? 

Sweep down, O host ! from the icy North. 

Stay not and spare not till these dim eyes 
Have seen the Prophet driven forth 

And the day of the Lord arise. 




AN ATHENIAN REMINISCENCE 



1 ""P WAS spring. 
1 lay, 



'T was Greece. I drowsy 



Just as the dawn was breaking, 
In that delicious border-laud 

'Twixt morning dreams and waking. 

*T was Greece at last. The dream of years 

Had found a late fulfilling. 
Sleeping or waking, hope come true 

Through every pulse was thrilling. 

Soft on my ear there stole a strain 
Of pipe and bell commingling, 

Of shepherd's pipe with reedy note, 
Of herd-bell softly jingling. 

Sure Pan doth lead his flock adown 

The slope of Lycabettus. 
Hear I not e'en the drowsy hum 

Of bees on far Hymettus ? 
46 



Bn Btbehfan IRemfniscence 47 

Were they then true, those tales of eld ? 

These newer years but seeming ? 
Still high on near Akropolis 

Is Pallas* spear point gleaming ? 

Still bows the world to Grecian arms ? 

Do Grecian gods still rule her, 
Still Venus charm, still Hermes cheat, 

Plato and Zeno school her ? 

True Greeks are we ? (Not simian shams, 

Pseudo-aesthetic pagans, 
Scarce knowing if a choice there be 

'Twixt Pallas' cult and Dagon's !) 

Is life in truth a vine-wreathed dream, 

Stern duty's rule a fable, 
The world our playground ; honor, love, 

But guests at pleasure's table ? 

So mock my soul those siren notes ; 

Yet nearer, louder droning, 
Sleep's last reserves they scatter wide. 

Pan's rustic, sweet intoning 

Becomes the hackneyed organ's strain, 
Gay Pan a Iyatiu rover, 



43 Bn Btbenian IRemtniecence 

His flock the goatherd's clattering swarm. 
My pagan vision 's over. 

To saner joys and nobler charms 

This Attic sun shall light us, 
And sweeter spells of bygone Greece 

For lost, false dreams requite us. 



Yet now across the widening years 

Sometimes in mood ideal 
I and my dream seem still to meet ; 
I hear once more Pan's pipe-notes sweet, 

Tinkle of flocks and hum of bees 

And rush of vanished deities, 
And half believe it real. 




HEIMWBH 

TWILIGHT, soft falling, veils the moun- 
tain's brow ; 
Slow gathering shadows deepen on its 
breast ; 
Far tinkling herd bells faint and fainter 
grow; 
Gently the weary day sinks to its rest. 
O land ! O home ! so far beyond the sea, 
Out through the darkness yearns my heart 
for thee. 

Cool Alpine breezes waft me from the lake 
Ripple of laughter and rhythmic plash of 
oar, 
Soft sobbing music of tiny waves that break, 
Tireless, forever, on the white pebbly 
shore. 
O land ! O home ! so far beyond the sea, 
Sweetest of music were one chime from thee. 

4 

49 



50 



Ibeimweb 



Pale golden flushes linger in the west, 
Lighting my fancy's path across the 

ocean's blue. 
There lies the home land, the fairest and 

the best ; 
There waits the " welcome home" of 

hearts tried and true. 
O land ! O home ! so far beyond the sea, 
Swift speed the happy hour that brings me 

to thee. 




AT SKA 

AULi day I sit and watch the tireless 
waves 
Of drear mid-ocean 'neath a leaden sky. 
They surge and mount and toss their foam 
on high, 
Then sink in sullen wrath to hopeless graves. 

Aimless and vain, an ineffectual strife, 
A weary whirl it seems that leads to 

nought, 
And gloomy fancies press the chilling 
thought : 
Behold thyself— a picture of thy life ! 

Not thou the shoreward wave whose fruitful 
haste 
Stores up rich spoil to strew along the 
sands, 

5i 



52 m Sea 

Of pearl and shell and wreck from far off 
lands, 
Found drifting here and there upon the 
waste. 

Nor the bold breaker thou, whose madden- 
ing shock 
Dashes its life out into surging spray, 
Nor heeds nor halts, so it but find a way 

To carve its message on the waiting rock. 

But look ! Quick breaking the horizon's 

A sudden burst of sunset spans the sea. 
A golden bridge it seems that even for 
thee 
Brings near a glorious goal and is the way. 





ON DECK AND BELOW 

SWIFT gliding over summer seas, 
Lulled by the South' s caressing breeze, 
With slow drawn breath of languorous ease 
Rocked upon sleeping ocean's heaving 
breast, 
With comradeship of kindred mind, — 
Work, care and strife left far behind, — 
What fairer image can'st thou find 

Of cloudless pleasure and consummate 
rest? 

Far down beneath the furrowed waves, 
Deep in the fire-fiend's glowing caves, 
The gasping, panting, toiling slaves, 

Chained bondmen of this strenuous cen- 
tury 
While time and space it vanquisheth, 
Sweat in the furnace's fierce breath, 
Brave for scant wage untimely death, 

And minister to thy felicity. 

53 



CARPK DIEM 

FROM each day's scenes some pleasures 
must thou borrow, 
Ivike friends of travel, met with by the 
way, 
Who unknown yesterday, and gone to- 
morrow, 
Form yet so fair a part of bright to-day. 




54 



THE LONG DISTANCE TELEPHONE 

GLEAMING against the sky, thy bur- 
nished chords 
Are framed in autumn's fiery, golden hues, 
Harp of these latter days ; and whoso 
choose 
May strike them into music set to words 
Voicing the passion and the rush and heat 
Of this fast dying century and beat 
The measure of its march, its dance, its 

knell. 
Yet may soft tones of gentlest music swell 
Along those strings, O harp, and strains of 

love 
Seem echoes of angelic harps above ; 
And separation lose its keenest sting, 
Since voice to ear, as heart to heart, doth 
sing. 



55 



THE MOONLIGHT PATH 

ACROSS the dark wide sea a goldeu street 
Of rippling sheen invites whom space 
doth part. 
There dainty-footed thoughts trip to and 

fro, 
Swifter than messages that come and go 
Along the cable lying deep below. 
Would't thou not gladly follow, and thy 
heart 
Empty of all its treasures at her feet ? 




56 



IN DEEPER VEIN 



57 



RACHEL COMFORTED 



O SIMEON, my husband, help me my 
vigil keep ! 
A wondrous dream and comforting hath 
roused me from my sleep. 

'T was the first sleep mine eyes have known 

since Herod's cursed crew 
Our pride, our joy, our dear first-born, our 

darling Eli, slew. 

Oh, how my heart hath missed him not 

even thou canst know. 
My empty arms, my lone, cold breast, my 

hopeless mother-woe ! 

Mind'st thou my playmate, Mary, in Naza- 
reth, my home, 

Who, with her spouse, to Bethlehem did for 
the taxing come, 

59 



60 IRacbel ComtorteD 

And mind'st thou all the marvels that mark- 
ed her baby's birth, 

The strange, bright star, the shepherds' tale 
of angels seen on earth ? 

Well, in my dream I saw her all in a soft 

white light 
Which streamed from that fair Babe she 

held, and glorified the night ; 

And at her knee were clustered a group of 

children fair, 
A halo round each little head, all singing 

sweet, and there, 

Foremost amid that radiant band, close by 

sweet Mary's knee, 
Her Baby's hand upon his curls, whom 

think'st mine eyes did see ? 

Our baby, our lost Eli ! Then my heart 

stood still for joy ; 
And Mary turned and spake to me: " O 

friend, behold thy boy. 

'"Twas for the Christ he suffered ; behold 
his martyr crown. 



IRacbel ComforteD 61 

One of the Holy Innocents, his glory and 
renown 

"Shall last through all the ages, and where'er 

is told the story 
Of the blest Babe of Bethlehem, he shareth 

in its glory. 

" Oh, cease thy lamentation. Thou grievest 

not alone. 
The sword that made thy heart to bleed one 

day shall pierce mine own. 

"But great as is the sorrow, greater shall be 

the joy, 
And some glad day thy loving arms shall 

clasp once more thy boy." 

Then I awoke. 'Twas but a dream ; yet 

from this hour shall cease 
My hopeless lamentation, and my soul shall 

dwell in peace. 



OUR DAILY BREAD 

WK pray not, Lord, that we may never lack, 
Nor that Thy bounty may our garners 
fill. 
Not such the daily prayer that echoes back 
From minster's vault or hermit's lonely hill. 

What hast Thou taught us? " Give to us this 
day 
Our daily bread." We need not ask for 
more. 
Another dawn may find us far away 

In that rich land where hunger's pains are 
o'er. 

And dream we then our spirit's food to store 
And gather manna for the coming days, 

Or trust to high resolve, that nevermore 
Our feet may stumble in life's rugged ways ? 
62 



©ur Baflg 3Btea5 63 

Or fear we, falling once, no more to stand, 
Or, straying now, our way no more to find ? 

Shall we not trust that bounteous, tender hand 
That feeds the hungry and that leads the 
blind? 

New every morning are Thy mercy's dews, 
New every noontide Thy warm, ripening 
beams, 

New every evening through the sunset hues 
The bright reflection of Thy glory streams. 

Grant us then, Iyord, in childlike faith to live, 
Nor care o'ermuch our future way to see, 

Trusting Thy love our daily bread to give 
For soul and body till we rest in Thee. 




THE DREAMER 

HE dreamed his voice in patriot speech should 
ring, 
Senates and peoples swaying at his will ; 
He dreamed his bow to breathless crowds should 
fling 
Music which every vibrant heart should 
thrill ; 
He dreamed of leading on a hard-fought field, 
Dying, a conqueror, 'mid a nation's cheers ; 
He dreamed one high, pure heart to him should 
yield 
Iyove's crown of bliss through happy circling 
years. 

But his weak voice fell back upon his ear ; 

His steadfast vote was all his patriot deed ; 
In the great orchestra he scarce could hear 

His faint notes following the master's lead ; 
A musket safely through the fray to bear 

Was all his part upon the stage of war ; 

64 



tTbe 2>reamer 65 

Friendship and love of kin his meagre share 
Of love's deep flood brimming beside his door. 

And lying down his last long sleep to take, 
He mourned his vanished dreams with long- 
pent tears, 
And prayed, " O Father, when Thou bidst me 
wake 
Grant me fit work for Thine eternal years ! " 

And a Voice whispered to his failing heart : 

"A steadfast vote for right speaks loud and 
clear ; 
In the grand symphony each softest part 

Distinct and true reaches the master's ear ; 
Bach faithful soldier, honored or obscure, 

Strengthens his captain's arm and nerves his 
breast ; 
In loving service, self forgetful, pure, 

With rich returns the loving heart is blest. 

" But thou in noble tasks shalt work with Me, 

Shalt more than conqueror be o'er every foe, 

Shalt swell the glad new song of victory 

And in the bliss My love reserves for thee 

Thy dreams' fulfilment myriadfold shalt 

know." 
5 



THE ALL-SUFFICIENT PRESENCE 

Exodus xxxiii., 14. 

" /^ARRY us not up hence," the prophet's 
V^ cry 
Rings out in prayer, " unless Thou with me 

go!" 
Before his vision stretching out, the slow, 
Long, toilsome march of Israel's host doth 
lie. 
War, pestilence he sees, slave fears and woe, 
Idolatry, revolt, presumption high, 
Death ending all. For him more dread, more 
nigh, 
That solitude which greatest souls must 
know 
Unless the Lord go with them. Not alone, 
Though nerve of steel obey the master will, 
Can human strength endure such awful 
test. 

66 



Zhc BlUSufficlent presence 



67 



Must God's great servant fail ? The Voice once 
known 
In Sinai's thunder breathes, " My Presence 
still 
Shall go with thee and I will give thee rest." 




HELP, LORD! I PERISH 

I FAINT with hunger. Where, O Christ, art 
Thou 
Who by the lakeside didst Thy thousands 
feed ? 
Pain racks my frame. O mighty Healer, how 
To Thy sick servant canst Thou give no heed ? 

My load lies heavily ; my shoulders ache. 

Where is Thy easy yoke ? My sightless eye 
Waits for Thy hand its healing clay to make, 

And my mute tongue demands Thy loosening 
sigh. 

My dearest lieth low. O Thou whose breath 
Raised up the widow's son, the sisters' stay, 

Canst not hold back the crushing feet of death ? 
Almighty then, art powerless to-day? 



68 



SKPTUAGESIMA 

THK last sweet echo of the Christmas chime 
Fades on the air and dies ; 
And looking on, the shadow of the Cross 
Upon our pathway lies. 

A twilight shadow deepening to the dark 

Where erst the noonday shone, 
A path of sorrow, bitterness, and death 

Our Iyord hath trod alone. 

Dear I,ord, I follow, shrinking first and weak. 

Must I too go alone ? 
" IvO ! I am with thee," and the groping hand 

Is safe within His own. 

The bitterness to honeyed sweetness turns, 

The dark to glorious light ; 
"Drink, and be thankful; eat, and thou shalt 
live": 

The weakness turns to might. 

6 9 



7o 



Septuaaesima 



No shrinking more. Close clinging to my L,ord, 

Joyful I journey on. 
And faith, triumphant, in the distance sees 

Beyond the Cross the Crown. 




THROUGH DEATH 

YEAR by year through centuries 
Easter joy-bells have been ringing, 
Hushing sorrow's bitterest cries, 

Comfort, hope, and triumph singing. 

Slow of heart and dull of hearing, 

Hark to that ecstatic strain, 
Doubt dispelling, anguish cheering, 

" Christ who died is risen again ! " 

Precious dust in earth is sleeping ; 

Aye, His form in earth hath slept. 
Sick and weary with your weeping, 

Think ye not His mother wept ? 

Death and hell and sin o'erthrown, 

Utterly destroyed forever, 
From His love in fulness known 

What henceforth hath power to sever ? 

7i 



72 Gbrougb Deatb 

He " through death " hath wrought it all, 
Wondrous work of love redeeming ! 

What can now your hearts appal ? 

K'en through death see glory streaming. 

Christ is risen ! Still your weeping. 

Since He lives we too shall live. 
Calmly to His holy keeping 

Can ye not your treasures give ? 

Alleluia ! Tell the story 

Day by day and hour by hour. 

Alleluia, praise and glory ! 

Hail His Resurrection's power. 




SATISFIED 

I shall be satisfied, when I awake, with Thy likeness. 
— Ps. xvii., 15. 

OBUSSFUIy promise to the faithful heart, 
Sure on Thy word, whate'er may here 
betide, 
It shall awaken from life's troubled dream 
In Thy blest likeness, and be satisfied. 

False, empty hopes and dreams no more delude, 
Fair Sodom-apples, bitter dust inside ; 

Vain strivings after holiness and peace, 
Fruitless on earth, shall then be satisfied. 

No more on broken reeds I lean and fall ; 

No more frail idols shall Thy throne divide ; 
Secure from sin, triumphant in Thy love, 

Resting in Thee, I shall be satisfied. 



74 Satisfies 

Cleansed by Thy blood from earthly stain and 
wound, 
Clothed in Thy righteousness, their scars to 
hide, 
From death's corruption in Thy likeness raised, 
When I awake I shall be satisfied. 

Then shall my faith be changed to perfect sight. 

No darkening glass Thy glory then shall hide. 
Knowing as I am known, when I behold 

Thee face to face, I shall be satisfied. 




TO A NIGHT-BLOOMING CKRKUS 

OFI.EBTING wonder ! Glory of a night ! 
Only less evanescent than the gleam 
That marks the lightning's track, or some 
swift dream 
That comes and, vanishing, eludes our sight ! 
How canst thou be content, thy whole rich 
stream 
Of life to lavish on this hour's delight, 
And perish ere one morning's praise requite 

Thy gift of peerless splendor ? It doth seem 
Thou art a type of that pure, steadfast heart 
Which hath no wish but to perform His will 
Who called it into being ; no desire 
But to be fair for Him ; no other part 

Doth choose but here its fragrance to distil 
For one brief moment ere He bid — " Come 
higher ! " 



75 



LIVING AND DEAD 

God is not the God of the dead, but of the living.— 
Matt, xxii., 32. 

WHY call we them " our dead," 
The blessed ones who have but gone 
before ? 
Hath not the Spirit said 
They live unto the L,ord forever more ? 

God of the living He, 

Yet God of patriarchs dead when Time was 
young — 
Dead to what eye can see, 

Alive to that which eye, nor ear, nor tongue, 

Nor heart can apprehend 

Or image forth of glory, grace, and bliss. 
Ah ! who dare call his friend 

Dead in that blessed world, alive in this ? 
76 



"FROM SUDDEN DEATH " 

TO him whose loins are girt and staff in hand 
No call comes suddenly. 
Fain would I thus be ready and so dare 
To offer Thee this once avoided prayer, 
Full flowing from my heart : From sudden 
death, 

Good Lord, deliver me. 




77 



TO HIM THAT OVERCOMETH 
Rev. ii. and iii. 

TO him that overcometh 
Is the gracious promise given 
Of gifts most rare and wonderful, 
And new to earth and Heaven. 

For he that overcometh, 

While resting from the strife, 

Shall in the Paradise of God 
Bat of the Tree of Life. 

And he that overcometh — 
Hark what the Spirit saith 

To the waiting, listening churches — 
Shall fear no second death. 

And he that overcometh 

Shall on hidden manna feed, 
And a white stone shall be his own, 

78 



Zo 1btm tbat ©\?ercometb 79 

Graved with name which he alone 
Receiving it may read. 

And he that overcometh 

Shall rule with iron rod 
O'er nations, and his gift shall be 

The morning star of God. 

And he that overcometh 

Shall be clothed in raiment white, 
And in the Book of Life his name 

Shall gleam forever bright. 
And Christ Himself confess him 

In God's and angels' sight. 

And he that overcometh 

Shall be made a pillar fair 
In God's own temple, and God's name 

And Salem's name shall bear, 
And the new name of Christ his Lord 

Upon his brow shall wear. 

And to him that overcometh, 

Great gift of all the seven, 
To sit with Christ upon His throne 

Forevermore is given, 



80 Go 1bfm tbat ©vercometb 

As He, too, overcame, and shares 
His Father's throne in Heaven. 

Grant us Thy grace, O Saviour, 
Through Thee to overcome, 

And bear Thy name and see Thy face 
Forever in Thy home. 




FRIENDS 



81 



J. S. D. 

TRUE, faithful, tender, patient, strong, 
Thou lov'dst thy children well and 
long. 
Distance nor time nor fault prevailed, against 
that love contending. 
No thought of self did it one moment's 
wrong ; 
And now it waits them in a life unending. 

Now see we why when God would show 
So much as man's weak thought could 
know 
Of His own love ineffable, unguessed, un- 
dreamed of rather, 
He chose the name which thou hast taught 
us so 
To love, and bade us say to Him, " Our 
Father." 



83 



DEFERRED 

SOME day, in that far country, one will say : 
" Why, when we lived on earth, were we 
so cold 
As almost to forego this inmost play 
Of heart with heart which now so dear we 
hold, 
My brother, or my friend ? " And in reply 

A wiser one will say : " Dost not recall 
That even in dullest moods an instinct high 
Said, * Once at home, we shall have time for 
all'"? 

And one, whose thought e 'en here doth wisdom 
reach, 

Asketh, " May not another reason be 
That here we know not the colloquial speech 

Of the high language of eternity ? " 



84 




CHANCK TIDINGS 

DEAD and I knew it not ! How couldst 
thou go 
Away from earth, 
And not one moment's passing shadow throw 
Across my mirth ? 

Methought I should have heard thy parting 

sigh, 
Or felt the chill of sorrow drawing nigh 
If thou shouldst die. 




85 



REQUIEM 

"Then shall the lame man leap as an hart and the 
tongue of the dumb sing." — Isaiah xxxv., 6. 

REST, weary feet that slow and halting trod 
Your short rough path. Rest, till that 
blessed day 
When ye, upon the eternal hills of God, 

Shall run with strong, firm step your joyful 
way. 

Fold, patient hands, upon the quiet breast. 

Faithful ye toiled, a humble place to fill. 
Hereafter called to do His high behest, 

Ye shall work out your Father's glorious will. 

Close, dreamy eyes, out from whose depths 
there shone 
Longings in this poor life unsatisfied. 
Ye shall behold the King upon His throne 
And life and joy and beauty multiplied. 
86 



IReQuiem 87 

Peace, throbbing heart. Nor pain, nor care nor 
grief, 

Hopeless desire nor powerless zeal shall more 
Trouble thy pulses. Pain shall find relief 

And hope fulfilment on that deathless shore. 

Rest, where soft shadows lie and grasses wave, 
While summer birds sing round thy lowly 
bed. 
Sleep, when the snow falls gently on thy grave 
And winter winds sigh hoarsely o'er thy 
head. 

" Blessed the dead who dying in the Lord, 
Rest from their labors." That sweet rest be 
thine. 

Rest in the promise of His gracious Word. 
Rise in the likeness of the life divine. 




QUIS DICAT? 

TWO 'mid the hillside's clover 
Silent are sitting, 
Birds singing round them and over, 

Honey bees flitting, 
And below them and before 
Lie river and sea and shore 
With sunset glory streaming over all. 
Brighter than summer's beams 

One hope is beaming ; 
Fairest of life's fair dreams 
Two hearts are dreaming. 
What needs there of vow or of sighing, 
Sweet asking or sweeter replying, 
Or any sound from happy lips to fall ? 

The bee and the bird are fled — 
The autumn chilled them ; 

And the hope and the dream are dead — 
The winter killed them ; 

88 



(Sluts 2>icat? 89 

And the two who sat together 

In the glowing summer weather 
Are parted farther than from pole to pole. 

Yet with each spring's returning 
The birds are coming, 

With each new summer's burning 
The bees are humming, 

And who may say that never 

In all the long forever 
Shall come a day rejoining soul to soul ? 




SHIPS AT SEA 

FROM different ports in countries far away 
Two ships set forth upon life's ocean 
wide, 
Unknowing each of each, till one fair day 
They met and hailed and lingered side by side. 

And many a day of that bright autumn weather 
In converse sweet and happy friendship flew; 

And sailing slowly on, they drew together 
Rich treasure up from out the depths of blue. 

A night of storm, and day's first dawning 
showeth 
To each an empty, sailless, surging main. 
A cry of grief from each to Heaven outgoeth : 
"Part we forever?" And, to calm their 
pain, 
A far, faint answer from the sky down floweth, 
"Ye seek one Port. There ye shall meet 
again." 

90 



EARLY VERSES 



91 



SPRING SONG 

GREEN is the grass, green is the grass, 
Yellow as gold are the cowslips. 
Sweet is the violet's breath as we pass 
And the apple-flower's heart where the bee 
sips. 
Oh, winter is past. 
Come thou at last, 
Beautiful, glorious springtime ! 
Over his grave 
Green banners wave. 
Joy, joy, joy ! 



Murmurs the breeze, whisper the trees, 

Soft is the fall of the fountain. 
The sun's ardent ray kisseth away 
The snow from the brow of the mountain. 
O spring, thou art come, 
Bursting in bloom, 
Beautiful, glorious springtime ! 

93 



94 Spring Soxxq 

Sweet sunny hours 
Blossom like flowers. 
Joy, joy, joy ! 

In green shady nook, close by the brook, 

The fairy-like wind-flower smileth, 
And the sweet note from the wild bird's throat 
The heaviest heart beguileth. 

O spring, thou art here, 
Queen of the year, 
Beautiful, glorious springtime ! 
Hailing thy reign, 
Sing we again 

Joy, joy, joy ! 




FORTUNE-TEIvUNG 

SONG 

SITTING mid the daisies, 
Buried in the clover, 
Pulling them to pieces, 

A-thinking of my lover, 
Asking of the robin 

Upon the cherry bough, 
" As I love him always 
Does he love me now ? " 

" Sweet,'' says the robin, 

" I 'm busy with my cherry. 
Ask of the clover-top 

Or daisy blithe and merry. 
They '11 surely tell you true, dear, 

Truer far than I. 
Loves me, loves me not — 

Aha ! Dare you try ? " ,. 

95 



9 6 



jfortune^aellina 



* ' Loves me, loves me not — ,: 

I pick them one by one, 
"Thinks of me, hates me," 

Till every leaf is gone. 
The last word, O robin ! 

Guess it, if you care — 
He loves me, he loves me. 

Doubt it if you dare ! 




SEPTEMBER MEMORIES 

SEPTEMBER'S golden sunbeams through 
My vine-clad window pour, 
And dancing shadow garlands play 
Hither and yon, on wall and floor. 

Without, the hills and meadow-lands 

And stretch of waving corn, 
Slow ripening, and the lazy cloud 

That scarce its length hath sailed sine 
morn, 

Bathe in the all-embracing flood 

Of autumn's yellow light, 
Refined in summer's crucibles 

From rosy June's most rich delight. 

Ivike wine of all the summer's fruits 
Through soul and senses stealing, 

That golden glory warms the heart 
To ope its doors, its wealth revealing ; 

97 



98 September Memories 

And lights its galleries, long and dim 

And stored with pictures rare, 
Sun-pictures of Septembers dead, 

Dead and forgot save only there. 

Steal but one glance. Ah, well we know 
Kach landscape's hill or river, 

Kach dear loved face, now hid in death 
Or coldly turned from us forever. 

Is there no charm to call to life 

Those still and pictured faces, 
No magic word to take us back 

To those lost joys and well loved places, 

To make those tide-waves ebb and flow, 
Those moons to wax and wane, 

To wake those forests' gushing songs, 
To bring us youth and hope again ? 

In memory's light, O friends of yore ! 

Tread we those paths together, 
And for one moment feel the old 

Lost charm of bright September weather. 



September Memories 99 

But see, even now they fade and pale, 

They vanish one by one. 
There is no spell to hold them fast. 

Their blessed ministry is done. 

The sun, fast westering, cries, " O heart! 

Close quickly up thy door. 
Let not the night thy treasures steal, 

But keep them hid, safe evermore.' ' 

Close locked they hang, and though e'en I 
Henceforth may see them never, 

I know them mine and keep them close, 
Safe hidden in my heart forever. 




LofC. 



AUTUMN PARTING 
SONG 

OUR gay, bright summer is ended, 
The leaves grow yellow and sere, 
And autumn breezes are sighing 
A dirge for the parting year. 

Yet breathe we no note of sorrow, 

No word of the parting pain, 
But only the song of the summer flowers, 

4 ' Good-bye, till we come again." 




ioo 






A WISH 

BRIGHT as the sunlight of the summer skies, 
Sweet as the south wind's rustling, whis- 
pering sighs, 
Pure as the holy stars that o'er us glow, 
Deep as the wave that mirrors them below, 
Full of all precious things of God's bestowing, 
Free from all sin and sorrow, care and strife, 
Through happy days and peaceful nights on- 
flowing, 
Attuned to angel music be thy life ! 
Until when evening shades are closing o'er thee 
And the faint spirit all expectant waits 

And earth is fading from thy darkened eye, 
The arms of love divine shall open for thee 
And Heaven receive thee through its golden 
gates 
To crown and palm and bliss that cannot 
die. 



BAIvIvAD 

RAISING THK FI,AG OVER FORT SUMTER 

April 13, 1865 

'HP WAS a cloudless day of springtime 
1 And the early sunlight lay 

Ivike a golden veil on the pleasant shore 
And the ripples of the bay. 

It shone on grim old Sumter 

As it shone four years ago 
On the gallant seventy in the fort 

And the storming rebel foe. 

Hushed now the booming cannon ; 

Stilled are the sounds of war ; 
For a glorious peace is won at last. 

Raise the old flag once more ! 

A goodly band are gathered 
The grand old flag to raise, 



Dallas 103 

With bounding heart and ringing cheer 
And heart-deep songs of praise. 

See, see it rise victorious, 

K'en fairer than of old, 
For the last black stain by patriot blood 

Is washed from every fold. 

Praise God, O ransomed people ! 

" Praise God ! " the nation cries. 
Hear million-voiced thanksgiving 

O'er all the land arise. 

All pray His grace to keep us 
Henceforth from sin and shame, 

A nation free and righteous, 
To bless His holy name. 

All pray God bless our President, 

God bless our gallant Grant ! 
And the sun went down that April night 

On a nation jubilant. 



REDIVIVUS 



105 



RBDIVIVUS 

(Written for a meeting of the Mediaeval Club after a 
cessation of several years. This club, once quite famous 
in a well-known suburban town, received its name be- 
cause composed of middle-aged persons. Its fortnightly- 
exercises consisted of the reading of original papers, 
anonymously, and various other amusements, excluding 
only cards and dancing.) 

ASTIR abroad upon the wintry air 
Startles the passer-by to wondering 
stare. 
What are those varied sounds inexplicable ? 
" It is alive again ! " some eager cry. 
" Alive again ? " the languid idlers sigh. 
11 What is it ? " all demand, but none reply ; 
More than twice " twenty questions " rend the 
sky. 
Is ' t min'ral, animal, or vegetable ? 

Is it a giant stirred from age-long rest ? 

A new, sharp twittering in a last year's nest? 

107 



108 IReDipfxms 

Some half-dead party faction roused to act ? 
Some general "hope deferred' ' reduced to 

fact? 
Follow the crowd as down the street they shout, 
And see what all th' excitement is about. 

But nearer now approached th' excitement's 

centre, 
The crowd becomes confused. Some, turning 

back, 
Exclaim with rueful faces, "Ah, good lack ! 
No use, unless you 've got the inner track. 
Only the favored few are bid to enter." 

'T is true. With sternness that belies her mien, 

A gracious figure at a gateway seen, 

Armed — O ye gods ! with what most strange 

appears, 
A huge portfolio and a pair of shears, 

While giving to the few kind invitation, 
Dismisses crowds of various sorts and ages. 
But why ? 'T would puzzle Solon and the 
sages 

To tell the grounds of the discrimination. 

To winsome youth no favoring grace is shown : 
11 Tarry and dance until thy beard be grown ! " 



IReDfvivus 109 

To girlish beauty's debonnaire assumption : 
" What ! not a single wrinkle ? What pre- 
sumption ! " 
The hoary graybeard seeks to enter in ; 
" In vain ! " she cries ; " too late thou seek'st 

to win 
What years ago had easily been thine. 
If thou, so late, to social joys incline 
To mimic pasteboard warfare turn thy face ; 
Console thee with thy court and trump and 

ace." 
The minstrel pleads, " For music and for me 
Is there no place in thy high company ? " 
11 Ah ! let me see ; the notion were not ill ; 
Perchance some vacant corner thou mayst fUl.** 

In vain I listen, strive to catch some mutter 
Of shibboleth which all th' elect must utter, 
Some favoring difference in vain to trace 
Of speech, complexion, dress, demeanor, race. 
At last, aha ! it must, yet can it be ? 

Bach one who enters wears a weapon tiny 
Called mightier than the sword ; and dull or 
shiny, 
Well worn, or thick with rust, scarce matters ; 
he 



no 1fteDtv>i\M6 

Who enters, without liberty to choose 
Must use that weapon, or pretend to use. 

So armed, the ranks advance, with flag un- 
furled 
Whose waving folds to an admiring world 
Display this motto, terse and cabalistic : 
"Do right !" or is it write? Those folds 

obscure the spelling ; 
'Tis sure some mystic sense too deep for 
vulgar telling 
Cunningly hid 'neath phrasing realistic. 

But now, all told, the cry is still, What is it ? 
No better known the object of this visit, 

What meaning all this pomp and circum- 
stance may bear. 
What hides from common gaze that envious 

portal 
Within which disappears this host immortal ? 
What rich and rare delights await them there 
In which poor we, (t oi polloi" may not 
share ? 

Is 't a symposium of that mystic band 
Founded by Solomon's own royal hand, 



1ReDiv>f\ms m 

And with his temple's corner-stone coeval? 

Is 't the fulfilment of some myth primeval 
Handed adown the ages ? Can it be 
Some old Hellenic game of mystery 
Altered and purged to suit our modern notion 
And quite remodelled since it crossed the 

ocean ? 
Or some aesthetic rite, intense and silly, 
The quite too utter worship of the lily ? 

I can no more ! I'm really out of breath. 
Have you no pity ? I am guessed to death. 
Well, stop your guessing. 'Tis an easy matter. 
Why always to extremes direct your chatter ? 
Is there no mean betwixt aesthetic and prime- 
val? 
Why, friend, 't is a revival of the Mediaeval ! 




TRANSLATIONS 



"3 



I.OVE AND IvIGHT 

A FRAGMENT FROM THE ITALIAN OF ALEARDO 
AI/EARDI 



ERE first the dark waves 
With deep, hollow roar 
Broke ou the silence 

Of ocean's lone shore ; 
Ere earthquakes and whirlwinds 

In desperate strife 
Had furrowed the earth 
In the dawn of her life ; 
Ere the beasts of earth, 
Ere the woods had birth ; 
Ere to the numberless 

Bright orbs of heaven 
A clear shining pathway 

Their Maker had given, 
In circles harmonious 



n6 %ox>e anD TLigbt 

Ruling the night, — 

Shone forth the light. 

II 

Ere yet were laid 

In their last resting-place 
The patriarchs, laden 

With years and with grace ; 
Kre to earth's noble monarch 

Eve had confessed 
Love's sweet, secret anguish 

Which hid in her breast 

Among the immortal flowers 
Of Eden's happy bowers ; 
Ere the archangels, maddened 

With pride overgrown, 
Would hurl down Jehovah 

From Heaven's high throne ; 
Before the first throb 
By the first heart was given, 
I<ove ruled in Heaven. 



And when the last tomb 
In its solemn embrace 



%ove anD %ighi 117 

Shall clasp the last creature 

Of Adam's long race ; 
And the last storm 

With terrible breath 
Shall quench the last star 

In darkness and death ; 
When the creation vast 
Shall be forever past ; 
When a darkness supreme 

That knoweth no dawn 
Reigneth eternally, — 

Brighter than morn, 
United in God 
And immortal above, 

Iyive light and love 




AMORE 



A FRAGMENT FROM THE ITAIJAN OF AI,EARDO 
AI.EARDI 

THE) dawn's early trembling 
That flushes the east 
Is like the first waking 

Of love in the breast. 
As the mountains and plains 

No more lie concealed, 
So the heart's hidden secrets 

By love are revealed. 
The sun goeth down, 
The air maketh moan, 
Soft sighs the sea, 

And down from the skies 
The dewdrops are falling 

Ivike tears from the eyes ; 
The light dieth slowly, 
As loath to depart — 

So love from the heart. 

nS 



A SIGH 
FROM THK ITALIAN OF I. GR^GGIATI 

THY loving heart, thy gentle hand 
To me were flowers of Paradise, 
And in thy smile and in thine eyes 
I saw a beauteous future nigh. 

Now that the ruthless world hath snatched thee, 
Now that from me thy love is torn, 
And life is desert and forlorn, 

Bereft of hope and joy I lie. 

Exiled I roam in distant lands, 

Thy heart, my life's one treasure, gone, 
And love and country have I none, 

And naught is left me but to die. 



119 



THE INNKEEPER'S DAUGHTER 

FROM THK GERMAN OF UHI.AND 

THREE comrades were travelling far o'er 
the Rhine 
And they gayly turned in at the innkeeper's 
sign. 

"Good landlady, hast thou good beer and 

wine? 
And where is that fair little daughter of thine ? " 

" My wine and beer are fresh and clear. 
My little daughter lies on her bier." 

And when to the room the way she led, 
There lay the maid in her coffin -bed. 

The first from her face the death-veil raised 
And long with sorrowful look he gazed : 
1 20 



Gbe Ifnnfeeeper'e 2)augbter 121 

"Ah! wert thou but living, thou beautiful one, 
From this day forth I would love thee alone." 

The next laid the veil o'er the fair young 

head 
And he turned away and wept as he said : 

" Alas that thou liest upon thy bier! 

I have loved thee truly so many a year." 

The last raised quickly once more the veil 
And pressed a kiss on the lips so pale : 

' ' To-day, as ever, I love but thee 
And will love thee to all eternity." 




FOREST DEVOTION 

FROM THE GERMAN 

AT early dawn, when cocks do crow, 
Ere yet the quail his call doth sound, 
Ere morning's breezes warmer blow 
Or hunter's horn doth echo round, 
So softly goeth 
That no man knoweth 
Through forest shades the L,ord of Hosts. 

The rippling spring His step hath heard 

And hushed its murmur reverently, 
And naught disturbs by note or word 
The prayer that riseth silently. 
In whispers dying 
The trees are sighing, 
" Before the Iyord our heads we bow." 
122 



Jforest Devotion 



123 



His presence starts the woodland flowers. 

From deepest sleep they softly wake, 
And from their eyes in silvery showers 
The drowsy dews of night they shake, 
And, round Him wreathing, 
They J re gently breathing, 
" The blessed Lord goes through the wood. 




SONG 

FROM THE GERMAN OE HEINE 

THOU 'RT like unto a flower, 
So pure, so fair thou art. 
I gaze on thee and sadness 
Stealeth into my heart. 

Upon thy head, in blessing, 
My hands I fain would lay, 

Praying that Heaven would keep thee 
So fair, so pure alway. 




124 



SONG 

FROM TH£ GERMAN 

HOW bright the rays of morning beam! 
The smiling valley hails their gleam. 
The beckoning brook through briers I see. 
Away, away and roam with me. 

Away, away, through woods and plains ! 
Not long the blooming May remains. 

O list! The happy morning song 
Of warbling birds sounds sweet and long, 
And waving boughs of blossoms fair 
With sweetest perfume fill the air. 

Away, away, through woods and plains ! 

Not long the blooming May remains. 

Rejoice, rejoice ! With gladsome shout 

My voice shall ring exulting out. 

Wild streamlet, smile again on me ; 

Behold, I follow, follow thee, 

And sing so loud from hilltops high, 
It rings again through earth and sky. 

125 



O WORLD, HOW BKAUTIFUIv THOU ART! 

SONG FROM THE GERMAN 

THE starry rays are dancing, 
The roses sweetly blow, 
Young eyes are brightly glancing, 

Fair cheeks with beauty glow. 
From every hill and valley 

The birds their joy impart. 
O happy world and blissful, 
How beautiful thou art ! 

Thou too, O man ! shalt welcome 

The bright and golden gleam, 
The wealth and glow of beauty, 

The joy and bliss supreme. 
With nature's merry voices 

Thy happy life shall ring, 
And in thy soul shall blossom 

An everlasting spring. 

126 



UNFINISHED 



127 




THE PLEASURES OF SICKNESS 



DUT best, dear Lord, the happy hours 

with Thee, 

So many more than busy health can spare ; 

The morn's thanksgiving and the noon's . . . 

Evening's petition and the midnight 

prayer. 

NOTE. 
Written during her last illness and left unfinished 




129 



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INDIANA 46962 







